Reflections
by Laerwen
Summary: Harry reflects on what happened the previous year. OotP spoilers. NO LONGER A ONE-SHOT!
1. Default Chapter

Reflections  
  
By: Laerwen  
  
Harry Potter was sitting in the smallest bedroom of Number 4 Privet Drive. He had just returned from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, not wanting to leave the haven. After the warning Tonks, Moody, and Remus gave to his 'family', they mostly left him alone. Harry spent most of his time locked in his room.  
  
The death of Sirius was too much for him. Harry decided to devote himself to his studies, and learning all the spells, curses, jinxes, and hexes he could use against Voldemort and his Death Eaters.  
  
For his sixteenth birthday, Hermione had sent him a book of muggle poems to try to get his mind off of what happened that June. Harry was now reading through this book, so Hermione would be happy. His eyes fell on a poem entitled Dying.  
  
Death  
  
The quick flash of light  
  
and the slow blur of sounds.  
  
Passing through my mind,  
  
as I become blind.  
  
The fast fleeting fall  
  
and the cold hard thud.  
  
Going to the floor,  
  
arising nevermore.  
  
The big gaping hole  
  
and the blood it doth leak,  
  
Trickling through the dark,  
  
so clean and so stark.  
  
The looming blackness  
  
and cold, icy air.  
  
Filling up the room,  
  
completing the tomb.  
  
The seconds tick off  
  
and the minutes march on.  
  
There's no time to cry,  
  
but only to sigh.  
  
There's time to think,  
  
but not to say goodbye.  
  
I think of my family,  
  
and how they wont leave me.  
  
I'll take my last breath,  
  
and wont let it out.  
  
For my life has ceased,  
  
and I am deceased.  
  
Harry's eyes filled with tears, but he refused to let them out. 'This person has a very descriptive meaning of death, who is it?' Harry thought to himself. He looked for a name, but the book said Author unknown.  
  
Harry sighed, and wondered if that's what it really felt like. He remembered Sirius' death, going through the archway. He certainly had time to think, but not to say goodbye. Harry felt the tears well up more.  
  
He thought over Sirius, and his parents' deaths for the first time. He was reflecting the whole time on how they happened. His mother's sacrifice, his father's stupidly brave attempt at protecting the family, and Sirius, how he dueled Dolohov so Harry had the prophecy, not Voldemort. Harry remembered Sirius telling him to run, Sirius laughing at the Death Eater he was dueling, and Sirius falling through the archway.  
  
For the first time in his life, he cried. 


	2. The Raven

Reflections Part 2  
  
By Laerewn.  
  
A/N: I have decided to continue this, but updates will be few and far between, as I write this when a poem inspires me. For format, there will be a poem in every chapter that I base the events of the chapter around. This was originally a one-shot, but I changed my mind. Enjoy!  
  
It's been a week since Harry had returned from Hogwarts, and he had shut himself in his room, only letting himself out for food and the loo. The Dursleys, for one, were overjoyed that they rarely saw their nephew, and hoped it would stay that way for the whole break. They also hoped, deep down, that his freaky friends would come back and 'rescue' him.  
  
They didn't even bother to find out what Harry did in his room. Harry had finished all of his summer assignments, and was even doing extra papers. This helped him keep his mind off of Sirius, as he was trying to forget the events that happened in the department of mysteries. At night he would practice occlumency, and had gotten fairly good at it. He enjoyed those dreamless nights, because it didn't remind him of the past, and the lives lost.  
  
He read a poem from his book every night before going to bed. He had discovered that most of the poems he had read so far were dark and dreary, very realistic. That night he had turned to the next poem, The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe.  
  
The Raven  
  
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,  
  
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,  
  
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,  
  
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.  
  
" 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;  
  
Only this, and nothing more."  
  
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,  
  
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.  
  
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow  
  
From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore,.  
  
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,  
  
Nameless here forevermore.  
  
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain  
  
Thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;  
  
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,  
  
" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,  
  
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.  
  
This it is, and nothing more."  
  
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,  
  
"Sir," said I, "or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;  
  
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,  
  
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,  
  
That I scarce was sure I heard you." Here I opened wide the door;---  
  
Darkness there, and nothing more.  
  
Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing  
  
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;  
  
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,  
  
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,  
  
Lenore?, This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,  
  
"Lenore!" Merely this, and nothing more.  
  
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,  
  
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,  
  
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my window lattice.  
  
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.  
  
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.  
  
" 'Tis the wind, and nothing more."  
  
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,  
  
In there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of yore.  
  
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;  
  
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door.  
  
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door,  
  
Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,  
  
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,  
  
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou," I said, "art sure no craven,  
  
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore.  
  
Tell me what the lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore."  
  
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."  
  
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,  
  
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;  
  
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being  
  
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door,  
  
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,  
  
With such name as "Nevermore."  
  
But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only  
  
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.  
  
Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered;  
  
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before;  
  
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."  
  
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."  
  
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,  
  
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,  
  
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster  
  
Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore,---  
  
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore  
  
Of "Never---nevermore."  
  
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,  
  
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;  
  
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking  
  
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore --  
  
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore  
  
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."  
  
Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing  
  
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;  
  
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining  
  
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,  
  
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er  
  
She shall press, ah, nevermore!  
  
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer  
  
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.  
  
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these angels he hath  
  
Sent thee respite---respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!  
  
Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"  
  
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"  
  
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!  
  
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,  
  
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--  
  
On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore:  
  
Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me I implore!"  
  
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."  
  
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil--prophet still, if bird or devil!  
  
By that heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--  
  
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn,  
  
It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore---  
  
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore?  
  
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."  
  
"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--  
  
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!  
  
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!  
  
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!  
  
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"  
  
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."  
  
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting  
  
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;  
  
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming.  
  
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;  
  
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor  
  
Shall be lifted---nevermore!  
  
Harry fell asleep, with the poem in mind. (no occlumency)  
  
*Dream*  
  
Harry looked around the room he was in; it looked like an old-fashioned chamber. Harry decided to see if there was a library in the mansion he was in, and immediately found one. He was reading up on advanced Defence, when a sleek black raven flew down, and settled on the nearest bookshelf. Harry looked up, and asked "What do you want? You're interrupting my studies."  
  
The raven answered "Nevermore!" and it flew off.  
  
"Nevermore? What do you mean nevermore?" Harry asked.  
  
Harry sat there for hours trying to contemplate the ravens warning. It came back.  
  
"What do you mean, O raven? Do you want me to study nevermore?"  
  
"Nevermore." It replied.  
  
"You've cursed me!" Harry shouted. "I cannot study anymore!"  
  
A random sentence appeared on the page of the book he was reading. 'Why do you divulge in books?'  
  
"I study to kill Voldemort!"  
  
"Nevermore."  
  
A lot of images then flashed in Harry's mind. He saw his first meeting with Sirius, at the Shrieking Shack, his fire-talk with Sirius for help on the first task, the times he visited his cave near Hogsmeade, Number 12 Grimmauld Place, His fire-talks doring the year, and finally, Sirius' dramatic fall through the archway at the department of mysteries.  
  
"Why don't you let me forget? Why must you torture me so?"  
  
"Nevermore." It replied, and Harry found himself back in his own bed.  
  
*end dream*  
  
Harry sat up, and re-read the poem. 'I guess trying to forget was not so great of an idea.' With that thought, he went to write letters to everyone, explaining for the absence of his letters.  
  
A/N: Thanks, to the reviewers. You inspired me lots. 


End file.
